


Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song.

by littlesilhouetto



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-16 23:56:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3507425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesilhouetto/pseuds/littlesilhouetto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is going to be a good year, I can feel it,” he said, and as he felt Porthos’ chest rumble with laughter at Athos’ noises of protest at being hugged so suddenly he chuckled, patting each of his best friends on the back and stepping out of the hug, smiling contentedly.</p>
<p>“All for one?” Porthos queried suddenly, using the catchphrase they’d devised almost as soon as they’d met in their first year.</p>
<p>Aramis and Athos smiled wider at that. It was nice to hear the familiar three words all of a sudden, after three months of going without them. Letting out a soft chuckle, Aramis nodded.</p>
<p>“Yeah. All for one.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Home.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a Modern AU, and a Musketeers Fic. I don't know how well it's going to work, but I adore University AUs, and I love the show so much that I just had to write one.
> 
> I don't know how many chapters this'll end up being, I haven't exactly planned that far ahead, so bear with me folks, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title from "With A Little Help From My Friends" by The Beatles, because I love that song and I love the Musketeers' friendship a lot.

“ _Mind the gap, mind the gap…_ ”

The automated, tinny voice filtering through over the tannoy and the _clack, clack_ of wheels as the train rolled out of Paddington Tube station were a soothing, hypnotic sound, and Aramis half-closed his eyes, zoning out until the tangle of passengers’ voices around him was just a tuneless hum. It was always strange, being back in London after spending the three summer months away, but it was a nice kind of strange, like putting on a coat you hadn’t worn for a long time and feeling a familiar warmth.

An idle glance to the notice board to his right told him that his train would be arriving in two minutes, and so Aramis allowed himself to relax slightly, loosening his grip on the handle of his suitcase and rolling out some of the post-flight tension from his shoulders. His phone buzzed, then, and he pulled it out of the pocked of his jeans, reading the text that had popped up on the screen.

[ _Behind you…….._ ]

Aramis rolled his eyes and huffed out a laugh, not even bothering to turn around as he felt two extremely familiar presences behind him, one at his left shoulder and one at his right.

“Gentlemen,” he drawled by way of greeting, straightening up and stretching languidly, like a cat. As the words left his lips, their train pulled into the platform, and Aramis’ lips curled into a smile. “Impeccable timing, as always.”

Stepping aside to let the other passengers exit the carriage, he lifted his suitcase and entered the train, making his way straight to the nearest available seats. As he sat, he cast an inquiring glance over at his two friends, checking to see that there were no major visible changes he had to be concerned about. Satisfied, he nodded to no one in particular and leaned back in his seat, stretching his blue denim-clad legs out as far as they would go.

“ _The next station is Bayswater. This is a District Line train to Richmond. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform._ ”

“So,” Athos intoned, voice dripping with its customary mix of sarcasm and nonchalance. “How many hearts did you break _this_ summer?”

Aramis bit his lip, curling his mouth in a mischievous smirk and shrugging. “Oh, you know, one or two.”

A hearty chuckle rumbled on the other side of him, and Porthos leaned forward in his seat. “You’re a bloody nightmare, y’know that?”

Letting out a laugh, Aramis jabbed his elbow into Porthos’ ribs and turned his head. “How was Constance’s?”

Porthos lifted his broad shoulders in a shrug, golden earring glinting in the light as he moved. “Fairly normal. She spent the whole time fussin’ over me like a mother ‘en, but that’s more or less what I expected. In fact,  it was a lot like what I expect livin’ with you for three months would be like.”

Aramis ignored the dig, instead turning to Athos. “And you, how were your parents? Still just as rich and intolerable?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Porthos raise an eyebrow, not needing words to say _See? You’re a mother hen._ It was true, Aramis supposed, although he aimed a gentle kick in Porthos’ direction, satisfied when he felt the point of his boot connect with the other’s ankle. He _was_ the mother hen of the trio, in a way, the one who cooked and cleaned (unless he could persuade Porthos to do it) and fussed over them, making sure they were both okay and didn’t get into _too_ much trouble without him (with him, of course, they had a free pass, and trouble tended to follow them wherever they went, not that any of them would ever admit it).

“Mmm,” Athos hummed non-committally, face impassive and eyes dark, as they tended to be whenever family was mentioned. He’d still not given away much about his past, despite what the other two had managed to pry out of him, and although Aramis and Porthos knew it was a sore topic they still brought it up occasionally, just to make sure that their friend was okay, or at least as okay as Athos allowed himself to be. “What about you,” Athos asked, abruptly changing the subject and lifting his eyes to meet Aramis’. “Spain? How was it?”

“Very hot, and very Catholic, as usual,” Aramis replied, absent-mindedly playing with his meticulously crafted moustache. Out of the three, he valued his appearance the most, in part through an insatiable desire to be _noticed_ , to make a good impression. People could sometimes perceive it as arrogance, but one flash of his dazzling smile was usually enough to convince them that he was entirely benign and simply too beautiful _not_ to behave like he did. At least, that’s what a drunk and relatively angry ex-girlfriend had told him after a particularly messy split. “My parents still want me to be a priest.”

The statement elicited a chuckle from both of his friends, and Athos shook his head, darkness in his eyes all but gone. “If only they knew what you were really like.”

Aramis gasped, affronted. “And what exactly do you mean by that? I’ll have you know that I’m extremely charming.”

Porthos grinned, adopting a teasing tone. “That’s part of the problem.”

Huffing and looking at them both with his best wounded expression, Aramis sat back in the soft Tube seat, smoothing out an imaginary crease in his white t-shirt and folding his arms over his chest. “Remind me again why I’m friends with either of you?” he inquired with a raised eyebrow, regarding the other two accusingly.

“Because you love us very much?” Porthos supplied, eyes dancing with mirth.

“Well… _may_ be.” A smile had already started to crack the façade of mock-offence that Aramis had adopted, and he had to pinch his forearm to stop the act from slipping completely.

“And besides,” Athos interjected, laughing, something he only ever did in the presence of his two closest friends. “What would you ever do without us?”

\---

Davy University was huge, to say the least. The sprawling 50 acre campus, located just outside Richmond, was one of the best, housing world-class departments in almost every subject imaginable. It was a beautiful campus, filled with wide open spaces and dotted with red brick buildings built in a Renaissance style, so that when you stepped onto the grounds it almost felt like being in 17th Century France. Regardless of the relatively disparate backgrounds Athos, Porthos and Aramis had come from, all three of them saw it as home.

Although they’d been away for some time, as soon as they set foot on campus it felt to Aramis like they’d never left. The deeper into the heart of the University they went, the more familiar faces they saw, and Aramis smiled at each person he recognised and even at those he didn’t, nodding his head in polite greeting. Porthos nudged him with his elbow. “You’re gonna pull a muscle in your neck if you keep nodding at every bloody person you see.”

Aramis nudged him back, hard enough that Porthos stumbled to the side, although Aramis knew that the taller man was only humouring him and pretending to have been affected. “ _Cabeza de mierda_ ,” he muttered, just loud enough for Porthos to hear.

Athos and Porthos both smiled at hearing Aramis speak in his native Spanish, and Porthos let out a low chuckle. “I missed you insulting me in foreign languages, you know.”

Athos snorted. “Don’t encourage him. In any case, I’m sure there’s plenty more where that came from.”

“Damn right there is.” Aramis’ grin was now so wide he thought his face was going to split in two. He’d missed these two idiots.

Not that he’d ever let on, of course.

The trio soon found themselves outside their dormitory, and were about to go up to their rooms when a figure in the corner of Aramis’ eye caused him to slow down. Stepping forward, he laid a hand on Athos’ shoulder, causing the other to turn around, eyebrow raised inquiringly. “Can you take this up?” Aramis asked, brown eyes widening slightly at the request, and pushing his suitcase in Athos’ direction. “I just need a minute.”

Perplexed, Athos took the case, and it was only when he’d looked over Aramis’ shoulder and seen what the ‘minute’ was about that realisation crossed his face. Suppressing a sigh, he took the black suitcase without a word, and disappeared up the stairs after Porthos.

She was just as beautiful as she’d been last time he saw her, and as he came up behind her Aramis had to stop himself from reaching out and touching her golden hair. “Anne,” he intoned softly.

She startled at the sound of her name and turned around, searching for the voice that had said it. When she saw him, a soft, shy smile lit up her face. “Aramis,” she breathed, and she sounded so happy to see him that it made his heart hurt. “How are you? It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, it has,” he agreed, matching her smile. “I’m good, yeah. Ready for another year. And you?”

“Me too. I can’t believe this is our third year here, you know. It feels like we’ve only-” The loud, insistent text tone emanating from Anne’s phone cut her off, and she fished it out of her handbag, throwing an apologetic look in Aramis’ direction. As she read the message she tutted softly, sending a quick reply before looking up at Aramis, looking even more apologetic than before. “It’s Louis, we’re meeting for coffee in five minutes.” Putting her phone away, she let out a quiet sigh. “You know, I was hoping I’d see you today,” she told him after a pause, and a smile crept onto her face, growing wider and wider before she checked it, clearing her throat. “It was good to see you.”

She seemed like she wanted to say something else, but her gaze was suddenly drawn to his chest, and her brow creased in a small frown. For a moment, Aramis was confused, wondering what she could possibly be looking at, but then realisation dawned on him. Reaching into the v-neck of his t-shirt, he pulled out the small jewelled crucifix that hung there, the one possession he made sure he always had with him wherever he went.

“You still wear it,” she whispered, surprise colouring her voice, and as he let the necklace hang against the white of his shirt she reached out and took it in her small hand, examining it as though it held the answer to some impossible question.

“Always,” he whispered back, and then mentally cursed himself for being such a sap. _This is dangerous territory, Aramis_ , a voice in the back of his head barked. _Stop now, before it’s too late_.

The word caused Anne to let out a soft gasp, and she let go of the crucifix, letting it fall against his chest. Then, clearing her throat for the second time, she shook her head, forcibly bringing herself back to reality. “Anyway, I have to…” she tailed off, motioning towards the archway that led into the courtyard behind the dormitory. “It really was good to see you.” Raising her hand in a quick wave, she ran off in the direction of the campus coffee shop, pausing once to look at him over her shoulder as she went.

As soon as she’d gone, Aramis let out a groan, burying his face in his hands. “ _Idiota_ ,” he bit out under his breath, and with a cursory glance around to make sure that no one had seen what had just transpired, he ran up the stairs to join his friends.

Because they were third years, and Professor Treville liked them, he had allowed them first pick of the rooms at the end of the previous year. Naturally, they’d chosen the nicest three, located on the very top floor of the dorm. There were only three rooms on that floor, meaning that the three boys essentially had a whole floor to themselves. There had been another, smaller room, but through a considerable amount of reasoned persuasion (courtesy of Athos) and more than a few sweet smiles (courtesy of Aramis) Treville had agreed to let them turn it into a shared kitchen area, and so they’d managed to turn it into their own private area, out of bounds to all other students unless they were invited. As Aramis made his way up the stairs and into their new space, his concern over the conversation he’d just had faded slightly, replaced by excitement at seeing his new room.

“Not bad, is it?” he called out, and was met with a joyful noise of assent from Porthos, who was no doubt testing the television in his room for sports channels. Sure enough, the elated cry of “They’ve got the full Sky Sports package!” was soon heard from Porthos’ room, and Aramis laughed, shaking his head in amusement. His smile fell considerably, however, when he was met with a stern-looking Athos.

“You’ve got to stop,” Athos hissed at him, and he didn’t need to say anything else for Aramis to know what he was talking about. Anne and Louis were _the_ couple at the University, the one that everyone ooh-ed and aah-ed over when they walked past, and the one that every couple in the first year aspired to emulate. It didn’t help that both of them came from extremely high status families, either. Messing with that was dangerous, and Aramis knew that.

He sighed. “I know, I know. I’ll try.”

Athos raised both eyebrows, wearing a look that said ‘I’m _so_ done with your shit, you know’, and looked like he was about to say something else, but he was interrupted by a gleeful-looking Porthos, emerging from his room after having completed a thorough investigation of his TV.

“I’m telling you, lads, this is the best decision we’ve made in a while. And that’s saying something.”

Aramis chuckled, pushing his conversation with Athos far into the back of his mind. “I’m glad you like it, Porthos.”

He cast a warning glance in Athos’ direction as he spoke. Porthos didn’t know about his… _feelings_ , although Aramis hated that word, for Anne, and it was better that it stayed that way for now, as much as Aramis hated keeping secrets from his best friend. Athos relented, mercifully, and even cracked a smile, deciding it was difficult to stay exasperated in the face of Porthos’ wide grin, reaching out and clapping a hand on Aramis’ and Porthos’ shoulders. “I think you might be right about the good decision part, my friend.” Aramis and Porthos mirrored his gesture, and then Aramis, the most tactile of the three, pulled them all into a group hug.

“This is going to be a good year, I can feel it,” he said, and as he felt Porthos’ chest rumble with laughter at Athos’ noises of protest at being hugged so suddenly he chuckled, patting each of his best friends on the back and stepping out of the hug, smiling contentedly.

“All for one?” Porthos queried suddenly, using the catchphrase they’d devised almost as soon as they’d met in their first year.

Aramis and Athos smiled wider at that. It was nice to hear the familiar three words all of a sudden, after three months of going without them. Letting out a soft chuckle, Aramis nodded.

“Yeah. All for one.”


	2. Courtyard Confrontations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm back! I have to say, I'm really enjoying crafting this AU so far, and hopefully I can continue doing that for a while yet. :)
> 
> Let me know what y'all think of this one <3

Aramis stared dolefully at the kettle on the kitchen counter, listening as it spluttered once, twice, before giving up completely and falling silent. Exhaling, he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation and turned to look at Porthos, who was leaning against the wall, munching on some suspiciously out-of-date biscuits that he’d found in one of the cupboards. The taller man shrugged, mid-chew.

“Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t bloody break it.”

“Let me guess, the kettle,” Athos said by way of greeting, meandering into the kitchen. “I did say we should have bought a new one at the end of last year.”

The three of them craned their necks forward, regarding the troublesome appliance, and Aramis finally unplugged it with a look of disappointment. The googly eyes someone (most likely Porthos) had stuck onto the kettle at some point in their second year looked back at them mournfully, as though wordlessly apologising for its poor performance. They’d bought it cheap from a fellow student early on in their university careers, and it was a miracle it had survived for this long. “Thank you for your loyal service, friend,” Aramis informed the kettle solemnly, tapping it once with his index finger before pouring out the water inside it and throwing it in the dustbin. “I don’t suppose either of you brought a spare kettle with you, by any chance?” he asked, a tinge of hope colouring his voice. Athos and Porthos shook their heads, prompting yet another resigned sigh from Aramis.

“We’ve been back for all of what, one hour,” Athos queried, checking his watch as he spoke. “And already we’ve run into, well, hot water,” he drawled, and then grimaced at the truly awful pun he’d just made, rolling his eyes at Porthos’ amused snort. Ever practical, he provided a simple solution. “Constance probably has a spare.”

“Excellent idea,” Aramis proclaimed with a  nod. “Let’s go. And Porthos, _please_ leave those damned biscuits, I think I saw mould on one of them.”

\---

It was mid-October, and although the sun was shining there was already a chill beginning to form in the air, and a bracing wind assaulted Aramis as soon as he stepped out of the dorm, prickling his lungs with its icy tendrils as he inhaled. It was a pleasant feeling, despite the cold, and he released a contented breath, letting the sensation of being back at the place he considered home wash over him. He didn’t need to check if Athos and Porthos were following him, the three were so in-tune to each other’s movements by now that he could sense that they were right behind him as he stepped onto the path that led away from their dorm and in the direction of Constance’s.

“Isn’t it a beautiful day?” A satisfied smile touched his lips, and as he spoke Aramis plucked a rose from a trellis that ran along one of the back walls of their dorm, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. The sound of faint grumbling drifted over from his right, and Aramis turned his head, regarding Athos with an amused look. “Are you cold, dear?” he asked, tone light and playful. “Maybe you should have worn more than a t-shirt and that ratty cardigan, then. Just because it’s Ralph Lauren, it doesn’t mean that it’ll keep you warm.”

“I happen to like this cardigan,” Athos informed him dryly, pulling his thin grey scarf more tightly around his neck, and swatting Aramis’ hand away when he tried to stick his finger in one of the many holes that peppered the black cotton of the cardigan. “And I’m not cold; I just don’t like the outdoors.”

Aramis had to laugh at that. “The many things you don’t like, Athos, could fill at least a hundred books.”

“I think you’re being unfair,” Porthos interjected. “I reckon it’d be more like a thousand.”

Athos huffed, muttering something under his nose that sounded suspiciously like _cretins_ , and Porthos’ and Aramis’ resulting laughter was loud enough that it startled a group of first years walking along the path opposite them.

As they walked (briskly, of course - Porthos’ long legs and Athos’ barely contained impatience wouldn’t suit a slower speed), Aramis allowed the feeling of being back in Britain to seep back into his bones, filling every exposed pore until he felt almost like a native again, relishing the prickling of the cold autumn breeze on his tanned skin and the bitter bite of the air. There had always seemed to him to be a quiet simplicity and efficiency about England, a feeling of resoluteness and perseverance that appeared to be absent from the other countries he’d visited. Although he’d always be a Spaniard at heart, filled with the kind of romance and _joie de vivre_ that seemed to almost flow out of the Mediterranean, there was something about being in England that felt _right_ to him, as though he’d finally fallen into a cycle that he’d previously been ever so slightly out of step with. Although maybe, he mused, looking to the two figures on his right, that sensation had less to do with geography and more with the people who had become such an integral part of his life that to go on living without them seemed to him simply unimaginable.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Aramis looked up just in time to see a flash of movement as a figure came barrelling towards them, heading straight for a collision with Athos. The words _watch out_ were on the tip of his tongue, and he saw Athos’ aborted attempt to deftly move out of the way, but it was too late, and the two bodies smacked into each other.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh and rubbing his shoulder from where the other boy had ploughed into it, Athos took a step back. “I take it the art of watching where you’re going isn’t part of the first year initiation course, then,” he commented sardonically, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off his sleeve and managing to look superior in a way that only Athos could. Aramis gritted his teeth, shooting Athos a look that said _be nice_.

The boy bristled at the comment, and he straightened up, long black hair whipping past his face as he did so. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“Fantastic.” Athos’ voice dripped with acid. “He appears to be deaf as well.”

The boy frowned, eyes darkening with ire. “Fuck off, man.”

Athos tutted. “There’s no need to be rude, you know. Although, you seem to be completely lacking in manners, so perhaps there’s no point in me trying to educate you.”

The punch came somewhat as a surprise to the three of them, and Athos staggered back as the boy’s knuckles connected with him nose. Aramis and Porthos, who had been watching the exchange with and despairing over Athos’ acerbic personality, instantly sprang into action, lunging forward and forming a protective barrier in front of their friend.

“Hey, hey,” Aramis shouted, defensive. Beside him, Porthos growled, a threat evident in his tone and posture. The three of them rarely got into fights, as the sight of three extremely defensive and angry young men was usually enough to put even the most foolhardy brawler off, but they always sided with each other in any dispute, without question or hesitation. Constance sometimes joked that they followed a bizarre code of chivalry.

To his credit, though, the boy didn’t seem deterred by the wall of muscle that had materialised in front of him. He reminded Aramis of a young buck, hips tilted determinedly forward and chest puffed, as though trying to prove something to himself and to the world. There was something else familiar about him as well, something that Aramis couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“It’s fine, gentlemen,” Athos pronounced, stepping past them and standing face to face with the boy. “He evidently wants a fight.” A small trickle of blood stained his left nostril, but he still managed to regard the young man with a mixture of barely contained disdain and mockery. “Go on, then,” he goaded. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Aramis rolled his eyes, knowing that nothing he said would change Athos’ mind when he was in one of his more dour moods. Casting his eyes upwards, he checked that no one was watching them from the windows of the surrounding buildings, and that no one was coming from any of the nearby archways. Fighting on university grounds wasn’t the best way to start a new year, and Aramis was glad that they were in one of the less busy parts of campus. Stepping to the side, he leaned against the rough brick of the nearest wall and motioned for Porthos to join him.

Porthos snorted. “The kid’s got no chance,” he murmured derisively, and Aramis had to agree. Porthos was by far the best fighter out of all of them, owing to the frequent scraps he got into over card games with other students, but there was no denying that Athos could throw a mean punch as well.

“No, I suppose he doesn’t,” he acceded. “That means this’ll be over quickly, thankfully.”

While they were discussing the fight’s outcome, the two participants were circling each other, each poised to strike the other. Letting out an angry yell, the long-haired boy lunged for Athos, only to find himself lying flat on his back as Athos deftly sidestepped him and tripped him up, sending him sprawling. Porthos chuckled at the sight, and Athos turned to his spectators, giving a mock bow.

Gritting his teeth in anger, the boy pushed himself up from the floor, swinging out with his right arm. The back of his palm caught Athos across the cheek, hard enough to leave a red mark, and the boy followed this slap by pushing Athos back as hard as he could, sending the older man stumbling backwards.

“I think,” Aramis commented, as he watched the two men spar, each inflicting about the same number of injuries on the other, “That he seems to be keeping up with Athos.”

“Rubbish,” Porthos replied, eyes bright and eager as they always were when witnessing fighting. “He just doesn’t wanna hurt the lunatic.”

As the words left Porthos’ mouth, they watched as the boy made a last desperate lunge in Athos’ direction, attempting to knock him over. Anticipating the move, Athos took a step backwards, and then shoved the boy as hard as he could, sending him crashing to the floor. The gravel crunched loudly as he fell, and Aramis decided it was time for him to intervene.

“Okay, okay,” he said, stepping forward. “That’s enough. You’ve had your fun,” he said to Athos, a hint of accusation colouring his voice, provoking an eye roll from the other man. Making his way over to the boy, he leant over, offering his hand. “Need help?”

“I’m fine,” the boy spat, voice wounded, and he pushed Aramis’ hand out of the way, pushing himself to his feet unaided. As soon as he was standing, he took a threatening step in Athos’ direction, expression thunderous.

Aramis cut him off with a swift step, blocking his way. “Ah, ah, ah,” he chastised, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I said _that’s enough_.”

Still not quelled, the boy attempted to push Aramis out of the way, only to be stopped by Porthos’ heavy hand on his shoulder. “Seriously man, enough. You’ve ‘ad enough fighting for one day, unless you wanna take on all three of us at the same time.” The last part was said in a low voice and with a stern frown, Porthos’ favourite and most effective intimidation tactic. “Do you?”

The boy raised his chin, defiant, and shrugged Porthos’ hand off his shoulder. “And what if I do?”

Aramis couldn’t help himself, he had to laugh at that. He finally realised who the boy reminded him of, had managed to place the feeling that had been in the back of his mind since they’d first run into him. He reminded him of the three of them, the way they’d been when they’d first joined the university; naive, more than a little angry, and with plenty to prove. It was interesting, seeing those characteristics on someone else after having outgrown them a while ago. “I have to say, I like this guy,” he informed the other two, smiling his famous Aramis smile, the one that incited people to give him things and pay him endless compliments, and apologise to him even when he was wrong.

“Really? He punched me, you know, or did no one else see that?” Athos supplied sarcastically, although he might as well have been talking to himself because Aramis and Porthos ignored him.

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Aramis soothed when the boy glared in response to Athos’ comments, and faced with such unexpected friendliness and effusive charm from Aramis he seemed to mellow slightly, and the stiff set of his shoulders relax somewhat.

“I think I like him too,” Porthos chipped in, posture relaxing as the boy’s had. “That was a mean right cross back there. There aren’t many people who can catch Athos by surprise like that, nicely done.”

Although evidently perplexed at the sudden friendliness, given the rather tense standoff moments ago, the compliment caused the shadow of a smile to cross the young man’s face, cracking his bitter and stiff facade.

“Et tu, Porthos? Et tu? Unbelievable. He punched me, I repeat, _punched_ , and you’re actually paying him compliments?” Having fallen silent for a while, Athos was back to grumbling, although Aramis and Porthos knew him well enough to know that this particular tone of his was reserved for occasions when he knew that someone else had made a good point, but was unwilling to admit it. Athos carried on, regardless of the amused looks that his best friends were aiming in his direction. “With friends like you two, who needs enemies?”

“What my friend is _trying_ to say,” Aramis translated, “Is that we’re both right, and despite earlier disagreements, you don’t seem all that bad. Oh, and also that he’s sincerely sorry for picking a fight with you,” he added, elbowing Athos in the ribs and giving him a pointed look that said _apologise, now_.

Porthos saw the look and chuckled. “Good luck gettin’ that to ‘appen.”

There was a long, drawn out pause, in which the four men all looked at each other mutely, and a sense of awkwardness began to creep into the atmosphere. Aramis, ever the one to diffuse awkward or tense situations, discreetly kicked Athos in the shin, fixing him with his best ‘ _if you don’t apologise this second I will inflict bodily harm on you_ ’ look, and finally, after a withering glare in response and a long-suffering sigh, Athos relented.

“ _Fine_ , yes. I am sorry.” He winced almost imperceptibly as he felt another kick from Aramis connect with his ankle, and amended his apology. “I’m sincerely sorry if I offended you in any way, please let me make it up to you.”

The boy, who had been watching the exchange between Aramis and Athos with some confusion, contemplated the apology briefly, and it was almost possible to see the cogs turning in his mind as he tried to think of the best possible response to the strangest apology he’d ever received. Finally, he flashed them all a reasonably bright, if tentative, smile, and when Athos held out his hand in a further attempt at reconciliation he shook it, nodding jerkily but with considerable confidence.

“I’m d’Artagnan,” he told them, finally relaxing completely.

Athos nodded his head in greeting, releasing his hand. “Athos. And this is Aramis, and Porthos,” he informed him, pointing at each of them in turn.

“Welcome to Davy University, mate,” Porthos announced, clapping the young man on the shoulder with a friendly smile. “I reckon you’re gonna fit in ‘ere just fine.”

“Speaking of fitting in,” Aramis piped up, suddenly remembering something. “Do you know what dorm you’re in?”

D’Artagnan thought about it for a second, then shook his head. “I don’t, actually. I was just on my way to the admissions office, when, well...” He indicated the space between them, referring wordlessly to what had just transpired.

Aramis chuckled amiably. “Ah, I see. Well, for starters, you were going the wrong way anyway. Admissions is that way,” he informed him, pointing to an archway at the other end of the courtyard they were standing in. Suddenly, a brilliant idea drifted into his head. “We’ll take you.”

D’Artagnan looked hesitant. “Are you sure?”

Porthos nodded, feeling similarly amicable. “Of course.” Then he frowned, and turned to Aramis. “What about the kettle?”

“We’ll get it afterwards,” Aramis reassured him, knowing all too well how attached his friend was to tea. “Admissions is on the way to Constance’s, we’ll make a short pit-stop.”

D’Artagnan spread his arms in a shrug, unable to resist the onslaught of charm and friendliness. “Well, if it’s no trouble, then sure.” Still slightly hesitant, however, he looked to Athos for confirmation, as though recognising his role as de-facto leader of the trio, and seeking his final approval before tagging along. When Athos inclined his head in assent, d’Artagnan smiled, stepping back and pointing in the direction of the archway.

“Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said Constance would be this chapter, but it would have been way too long otherwise. She's 100% coming next chapter though, I promise!
> 
> (Also d'Artagnan's the cutest human I've ever seen tbh I want to wrap him in a blanket and give him cuddles he's like a puppy.)
> 
> (Also also idk why but my computer's doing a funky thing where it's pasted in the end-note from ch1 as well. I'm not sure if that's happening for everyone, but if it is, just ignore the second end note 'cause it's from the previous chapter)

**Author's Note:**

> Dumas was born Dumas Davy de la Pailleterie, so that's where I got the name of the University from, in case any of you were wondering. And the Tube is what us Brits call the Underground, or Metro system, in London. Richmond is a town in southwest London, with a lot of awesome parks and open space, so that's why I picked it for the University's location. The Sky Sports package is a group of channels that we have that show every kind of sport imaginable, and which you have to pay for.
> 
> Other characters will be introduced soon, next chapter we'll meet D'Artagnan and Constance, and maybe even Rochefort (boo! hiss!). I'll make it clear (hopefully) what year everyone is in and what subjects they're taking soon, I promise!


End file.
